Uchronia
by Graffiti My Soul
Summary: In another time, another place, we might have chosen a different path and ended up somewhere else. AU drabble series.
1. Chapter 1

**UCHRONIA**

_In another time, another place, we might have chosen a different path and ended up somewhere else. AU drabble series._

**I.**

To Irving's relief, Warden Tabris and her companions stayed an extra few days to wait for the Circle to slowly rearrange themselves into some semblance of order. Wynne had asked to join the Warden's party, and with the state of the tower, Greagoir had agreed to sign off her papers with little complaint. It was now only a matter of _finding_ them.

The elven woman even assisted the templars and few survivors with beginning the clean up, having decided that standing around would be a waste of time. In one curved hallway, she paused to stare at two bodies that had yet to be carried away. A blade had been stabbed straight through the both of them– a copper-haired templar with amber eyes still wide and a mage in bloodstained Enchanter's robes held beneath him in an armored embrace.

Perhaps he'd been trying to protect her, in those last desperate hours.

Tabris stepped forward and knelt down to close the man's eyelids, whispering a soft prayer over both their bodies.

"They should be burned together," she tells Irving later, who looks down at his former pupil with old, watery eyes. Greagoir sighs and covers his face with one heavy gauntlet, refusing to see the boy [always a boy, in the Knight Commander's mind] who he had trained since the age of 15.

"Fine. _Fine_," he growls, waving the First Enchanter and the Warden away. "Get it over with. I don't need to watch."


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

"You're pregnant."

The mage startled at the voice – she hadn't even heard him approaching – and sat up in her bed, hair still ruffled from her attempts to sleep. It was past midnight in the healer's wing, and though the templars had around the clock patrols they usually avoided entering any rooms this late. She'd thought she might avoid him awhile longer.

She pulled the sheets around herself and stared down at the subtle, barely-there bump made by her stomach beneath the blanket. "Yes, I am."

He cleared his throat, and then asked, in a very low voice, "Is it-"

"He," she corrected. "And he's yours."

"...Maker," the templar breathed. "I never thought – they'll take him away when it's – he's born, won't they?"

"They will. They don't know you're involved, Irving jumped in when the Knight Commander asked. Relations between mages aren't restricted, so I won't be really punished. They'd strip you of your rank and have you thrown out if they knew the truth –"

"-And they'd send you to Aeonar," he finished, a hint of growl creeping into his voice. The mattress sank beneath his weight as he sat by her feet, and his hand came to rest upon the swell of her abdomen. "...We...could run," he offered hesitantly. "We could go to West Hill and take a ship to the Free Marches."

"You are telling me to go apostate?" The mage's laughter comes out harsh and sharp, more of a bark than an expression of joy. "_You?_ And what would we do, once in the Free Marches? There is no place in Thedas that the Chantry cannot reach, besides Tevinter, and I doubt you would want to go there. Even in the Circles where mages have more freedoms, there is no place that would _not take my son from me_."

"_Our_ son," he retorted, raising his hand. He cupped the nape of her neck and pulled her closer. "And if the Free Marches is not far enough, we will go to Rivain, or the Donarks, or leave Thedas altogether. Find some new land across the sea, raise him there and tell him what his parents did to make sure he was free."

"You are a hopeless romantic," she sighed, shaking her head and leaned back into the softness of the feather-stuffed pillow. "I...I have to...You really want to do this?" _This isn't a trick?_

He gazed at the flutter of her eyelashes against her cheekbones and the velvet-smooth fall of her hair; remembered the flash of silver that would illuminate her eyes before she cast and the warm blue glow of her hands healing his injuries after training. Her body, soft and yielding beneath his own and her whispering his name in the darkness that was all he had to offer her – or maybe not.

"I'd go to the ends of the world for you," he swore, and closed his eyes when she brushed her lips against his temple. It would not be forsaking his vows – he had sworn to watch, to guard, and to stay strong through the darkest of days and nights. He could still do that – at her side.

"Then I shall follow your lead, Ser Greagoir, and may the Maker watch over us," murmured Wynne.


	3. Chapter 3

**III.**

"_Elly?_"

"My lord," Elissa curtsied stiffly. She was wearing the tattered, mud-hemmed remains of a once fine dress, feet clad in a pair of boots that were clearly sized for men and golden curls twisted back with a piece of string. There was a streak of dried blood on her forehead that he reached forward to wipe with his thumb. She flinched.

"...Elly?" Alistair asked again, softer. "Why are you here? I thought your brother was bringing Highever's troops, Bryce said he was having you stay at the castle." Up North, behind stone walls, she was supposed to be _safe_ – not down here in the swamps with him and his royal brother's armies and the darkspawn.

"The Warden Commander has conscripted me into his order."

The Crown Prince of Ferelden was usually the mild-mannered and congenial counterpart to his older brother, the King – but now, all he could see was red as he turned upon his heel to face the dark-skinned Rivaini with a scowl. "And _what,_" he growled, "Made you think it acceptable to conscript _my betrothed_ into the ranks of the Grey Wardens? I won't allow it. I won't, Maker damn your Right of Conscription!"

"Arl Howe betrayed us," Elissa replied for him, stepping in between the two men. "He attacked in the middle of the night and – and killed them _all_, Oriana and little Or-Oren and Nan...Mother and I fought out way out, but we found Father dying and she wanted to stay with him. Rory stayed to buy us time...They're all dead. Duncan got me away." Her eyes, he noticed now, were rimmed in scarlet. She'd surely spent days crying into her pillow – but of course beautiful, brave Elly had still followed Duncan out of the wreckage of her home to fight another day.

Alistair's face softened, and he removed his hand from the hilt of the sword that Loghain had demanded he keep on him at all times, 'just in case'. "I thank you for saving her then," he gave a shallow bow to the Warden Commander. "You should have been more specific Elissa, just because he saved you doesn't mean you have to join the Wardens. We will deal with Howe, I promise you, the throne will _not_ ignore his crimes-"

"No, the Teryn agreed that she would take the place of the recruit I went to Highever for," interrupted Duncan, his dark face solemn, "In exchange for my assistance in her escape. Lady Cousland is a fine combatant; she would have been my first choice. I'm afraid the Right of Conscription has no exceptions-"

"Alistair, we will speak of this later," Loghain appeared at his side, one heavy gauntlet placed on his shoulder. "The King must speak with the Warden Commander about troop placement in the coming battle." It was meant as a restraint, and the prince gritted his teeth and took Elissa's hand to lead her towards the camp.

"When this is over," he promised her, "We'll still be together. I'm a bastard, you're...even if you join the Order, it'll all balance out."

Elissa smiled, so careful it was almost as if she expected her face to crack at the motion. "Or we could run away and build a farm and make cheese all day."

"That would never work Elly, I'd eat all our stock."


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

"Pretty little thing," the 'healer' grabbed Tabris by her pointy chin and jerked her head upwards. Her hazel eyes stared up at him defiantly, fringed in dark lashes. She spat in his face and scowled, front tooth chipped from some alleyway brawl that she had been lucky enough to survive.

Luck had abandoned her since then.

"She'll sell well, just Magister Selenus' type."

"Might even make a decent drain slave, the way she fights. Magister Danarius was on the market for a good one...lost his last elf, didn't he?"

Another man wrapped his large hand around one wrist and squeezed; hard enough to make a bone beneath crack. He smiled maliciously. Tabris bit her tongue, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much it _hurt_. "Huh. Skinny, even for a knife ear, but she might just make it. We'll see how she lasts on the ship."

"Chain her up with the others then, I'll go check through the next lot."

Her hands had already been tied in a rough knot behind her back, but the Tevinter who tried to shackle her got an elbow to the face and a bloody nose for his trouble.

"The little bitch _hit me_!"

A hard boot slammed into her side, and she keeled over, a soft whimper finally escaping her lips. Her head crashed against the rotting wood floors, her vision swimming.

From the next room over, Tabris heard a familiar voice - one she'd known all her life, the one that had sung her lullabies and rocked her to sleep as a child. Before the darkness swallowed her, she choked out her first and only plea.

"Please Andraste, don't let them take my father too."


End file.
